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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981200">The Ugly Mug</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvusFeathers/pseuds/CorvusFeathers'>CorvusFeathers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Vigilantes, F/M, M/M, Out of Character, Polyamory, Warning: nazis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:29:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981200</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvusFeathers/pseuds/CorvusFeathers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What should have been a quiet Sunday morning for Jaskier turns into a harrowing experience that leads him down a twisting path of deception, violence and forbidden knowledge.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Broken Mug</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for my love, to make you smile</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Welcome to The Ugly Mug, what can I get for you tonight?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have a double chocolate macchiato with two pumps of espresso please. What about you, going to try something new this time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a large black coffee. Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier would know that sultry monotone anywhere. It’s them; it’s the bodybuilder and the dominatrix!  He whips his head around the back wall from the office where he has been tooling around on his acoustic while waiting for the 3am late night crowd to finish slowly shifting to Saturday’s sleep deprived early risers. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Amber is at the counter starting on the double as the pair heads to a table in the back. Always the same table, always with their backs to the walls, eyes scanning the nearly empty coffee shop. The only thing that ever changes is the woman’s order and the fake name they give at the counter. Jaskier sidles up to Amber and leans over to whisper “Agent’s Scully and Mulder? Or Arthur and Morrigan?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amber starts giggling as she carefully swirls the whipped cream on the double while Jaskier takes the monumental task of preparing tall dark and broody his dark and tall coffee. He’s a saint, really. Amber hands Jaskier the finished drink and motions him toward the table with an absent wave of her hands as she turns to the counter to go back to studying her text book. He looks down at the brown cups in his hands and sees “Thelma” written on the double and “Louise” on the other. He nearly drops them laughing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier makes his way through the sparsely populated cafe and puts the drinks down with a dramatic flourish that makes the woman smile while the man’s attention is lasered in on the file in his hands. The woman thanks him, her accent faint but lovely and Jaskier could swear he can smell the sea. He wanders back over to the counter and plops down where he can watch them in the mirror above the bar. He’s not technically on shift but he hates leaving anyone alone late at night and with Alicia in labor and Brandon and Eric in the delivery room with her there was no one to call in at such short notice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amber plops the house books down in front of him and he lets his head hit the counter as he groans. She pats his arm and bounces off to fill a customer’s coffee. Ugh. Why did he think owning a coffee shop would be fun? He loves coffee. He loves music. He loves the late night oddballs of NYC. Why not combine all three and open a twenty four coffee shop near central park? Because math. Ugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier pulls himself together when Amber plops a mug of coffee in front of him. She’s the best little sister a guy could ask for. Jaskier loses himself in the numbers until a crashing sound breaks through his daze. Someone has thrown a trashcan through the plate glass window Alicia painted the kick ass store logo on. Motherfucker. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Jaskier can react three young men wearing the typical skinhead shit are jumping through the open window. They come to a stop in front of the counter and the one with the stupidest hair turns to the one with the most piercings and asks “I thought you said it was closed?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It should be. Who the fuck wants coffee at four am on a Saturday?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s an indelicate snorting sound from the back table followed by a long suffering “Yena.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boys turn to the noise but are distracted by another three cookie cutter skinheads coming in through the door. These three are bigger, and if possible, uglier. Unfortunately they are armed with an assortment of bats and tire irons. One of them is carrying a gas can and playing with a lighter. Fucking motherfucker. They start moving around the front of the cafe like a pack of roving hyenas tearing art from the walls, smashing glass and toppling over seats. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look guys, just let us go out the back. There’s money in the till and the place is insured. Hell those amps by the stage are worth more than what’s in the till. There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.” From the corner of his eye he can see Amber and an unlucky customer reflected in the wall mirror crouched behind the counter. Thank fuck they weren’t busy. He watches Amber usher the guy out in front of her and moves away from them, hoping to distract the assholes in front of him. Gasoline man has wandered off to douse the couches and chairs by the broken window and Jaskier closes his eyes with a pained sigh. They’ll rebuild. As long as they get out of the alive it’s all that matters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waits until he’s sure Amber and the guy have gotten out the back before he sidles to the register and bangs it open. He backs away and gestures to the open till. “There you guys go, just let me and the customer’s walk out the back. Easy as pie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he trying to rationalize with Nazis that were too stupid realize this was an open coffee shop two blocks from art college?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ugliest of the bunch stalks toward her and leans over leering. The woman's face is set in an indifferent mask, a slight twist to her lips almost a dare. All of the noise in the room has stopped as the two stare at each other before the lead Nazi breaks into a laugh, reaching one hand up to caress her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yena, please. There’s civilians here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman, Yena, turns to the mountain next to her and pats his cheek with a patronizing smirk. Ignoring the man trying to turn her face back, his fingers sinking into her soft skin but not moving the delicate face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Now darling, I think the cats out of the bag. And besides, are you really going to let your darling little song bird get hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blush spreading across the man’s face pairs perfectly with his bright white hair and if this were not the worst night of his life he’d die a happy man at the songbird comment although he might just die tonight anyway. The Nazi with the gas can climbs on top of one the tables that have remained up right. He holds the gas can above his head with a manic glint in eyes and they start stomping and chanting before a sudden sharp in pain his face makes his world go black briefly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When his eyes open again he’s in the man's arms, cradled to his side while an ungodly screaming fills the air around him. He looks over the broad, leather clad shoulder and sees the woman holding one of the thugs by the throat, her long golden nails disappearing into the flesh of his neck with a bright red gush of blood. The smile on her face is terrifyingly joyful as she hurls the body through the broken window. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turns and advances on the Nazi on the table and he panics and throws it at her. She dodges the can but it hits the wall over the propane heater. There’s a brief moment of stillness where Jaskier thinks ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to die and it’s going to hurt’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>before mountain man is scooping him up and hurtling them through the back office, down the stairs through the delivery gate and out onto the quiet early morning streets of Manhattan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He must still be concussed from whatever those motherfuckers hit him with because he can swear tall and broody is stroking his hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“JASK!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next moment Amber is trying to pounce on him, a long pale arm holding her off him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry ma'am, he got hit in the head and he’s been moved too much already. We need to get him seen by the paramedics, have you called the authorities?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, wow. Polite, cute and smart. Jaskier is so fucked. Hopefully literally. No bad concussion brain, focus. Amber’s conversation with his new favorite pillow fades out around him and he tries to think.  It’s November 15th, 1986. New York City. President is that rat bastard Ronald Reagan. My name is Jaskier Alfred Pankratz. I just lost everything I've worked for in the last </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking decade</span>
  </em>
  <span> including his goddamed cat and his poor fish because why not live above the cafe and save money? How the fuck was he supposed to know some durgged out fucking Nazi scum bastards would come in and blow it all to pieces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears a sharp metal grating sound and looks up to see his fire escape lowering before a slightly on fire leather case is dropped down in front of him. It is followed shortly by a naked woman carrying a fish bowl and a struggling, faintly smoking big orange cat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dandelion!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amber grabs the outraged cat in her arms and holds him close. Jaskier looks at the woman in front of him. Despite having climbed down from a literal fucking fire holding a frightened house cat the woman looks pristine. Her black flows gently in the harsh wind that’s nipping at the rest of them. She stands naked in the frigid New England winter air like she’s in a photo shoot and something wiggles at the back of his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A screech of breaking tires pulls his attention away from the woman in front of her and to the ambulance and fire trucks pulling up around them. Before long he’s being taken from mountain man’s big arms and put on a stretcher. He tries to tell the paramedics he’s fine but he doesn’t make it past the first syllable before he’s fading into darkness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Jaskier comes to, he's in a private hospital room that he knows his insurance would not have covered, with an absolutely foul taste in his mouth. Amber is asleep on the recliner in the corner and mountain man is sitting next to his bed glowering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-frankly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>gentleman, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don’t care what </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> policy is on the matter. You can come back tomorrow when visiting hours start.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman -Yena, he remembers- slides through the cracked door and closes it with a firm snap before turning and fixing her eyes on Jaskier. The diminutive woman is terrifying, even in the borrowed scrubs with vibrant cartoon animals dancing across them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The NYPD are tenacious, if not very effective.” She purses her lips into a cute little tweak of displeasure, “I’m afraid this is too important to trust to mortals. What don’t know what your little song bird saw and one of those Nazi scum managed to escape. I’m out of practice, Geralt. I never would have let one escape in the old days.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s voice from beside the bed startles him. It's the first time in over a year of tall-black-coffee’s that he’s heard actual emotion come from the man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Frankly it seems a little too convenient that those assholes showed up right after we did. I’d like to know who’s watching me so closely that they know my weekend coffee habits.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agreed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Small, dark and terrifying grabs the phone from the bedside table, trailing it’s cord to the ridiculously sized window that has a fucking a window seat, jesus christ where the fuck is he. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re in a private room my family keeps on standby for when shit goes tit's up. Don’t worry, it’s paid for.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I’ve been talking outloud huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The quick smile on Geralt’s face is like a flash of sunshine on a rainy day. Jaskier could write songs about that smile. And those strong arms. And those abbs. Oh yeah those abbs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt makes a strangled choking noise while Yeni starts to cackle from where she’s been quietly speaking on the phone in a sharp, guttural language.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh you two are too cute.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yena stalks forward and pulls Geralt into the dirtiest kiss Jaskier has ever seen before pulling back and giving Jaskier a slightly sweeter kiss. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You boys don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And remember he’s on a heart monitor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches her stride from the hospital room to the sound of Geralt’s strangled “Yennefer!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about her. If she decides either of us wants something she doesn’t stop until she has it or she’s sure it’s out of her reach.” Geralt lets out a long suffering sigh and reaches out for Jaskier’s hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So the kissing was-?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt shakes his head lightly, a bemused smile stretched across his stern features.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As much as it pains me to have to delay this conversation I really would like to have it when you are not on quite so much pain killer, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods his head and the motion sends him spiraling out. He finds himself staring up at the ceiling and asks: “What did that guy hit me with and where?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tire iron to the side of your face. Crushed your cheek bone. You’ve been asleep for two days. Amber hasn’t left the hospital but your friends Cal and Lex picked up the fish and that devil cat and brought you guys some clothes that should fit. We, uh, kind of had to drug her to get her to sleep but she’s fine, I promise! And -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cuts Geralt off with a squeeze of his hand in Jaskier’s and he’s mesmerized by man’s brilliant yellow eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re babbling G.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amber’s voice is the best thing he’s ever heard and in that moment it all comes crashing down on him and he doesn’t know if he’s laughing or crying. The next second Amber is flinging herself into his arms and they are both a snotty, horrid mess but he doesn’t care. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shop might be gone, all of his shit blown to hell and his face fucking wreck but they’ll start the fuck over. They’ll build it all up again. He has Amber and his friends and maybe the mysterious duo and honestly? Everything else can fucking wait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he falls asleep in a tangle of limbs he feels a strong warm hand stroking through his hair and he thinks he can smell coffee and faintly, the smell of the sea.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Double Shot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next time Jaskier wakes up the sun has risen and it slants through the thick blinds on the windows. The room looks more like a tasteful hotel room than a hospital room. It’s surprisingly large, even the standard hospital bed is distractingly comfortable. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No wonder I slept for two days.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears a now familiar snort that has him whipping his head to the left to see a sitting area he had not noticed last night. Gerlat is laying on the couch with Yena tucked up against him and they were very obviously enjoying each other if Geralt’s flushed face and Yena’s wild hair and crimson mouth and  </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, wow. She’s even prettier when she’s a mess.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>Her laughter is terrifying though. And sexy.</span></em> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you always talk out loud like that? Should we tell the doctor about this?” Geralt says, a concerned frown taking over his kiss-swollen lips. Oh, damn. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So pretty.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a Jaskier thing,” Amber says from the doorway, holding four cups of coffee and a bag that he really hopes has some kind of delicious carbs. She sees his puppy eyes zero in on the bag and gives him a sad smile. “Sorry Jask, they had to put screws in your face. I know you can’t feel the pain right now but you really don’t want to try chewing. I did bring you a double espresso from The Chilled Bean, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re the best little sister ever.” Jaskier says as he makes delighted grabby hands at the coffee. It won’t be as good as his own brew but it’ll do until he can get back on his feet. There’s a loud rap at the door and two ruffled looking detectives walk in followed by a very angry looking African-American man in an extremely nice suit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Commissioner Ward, a pleasure as always. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> Olivia and the children?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yena’s tone is as smug as a cat with a bird in its mouth and the detectives both flinch beside Commissioner Ward and try to not look at the pair now sitting up on the couch with Amber tucked between them protectively. Jaskier gets the feeling that he has missed something. It’s beginning to become a familiar feeling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone is doing great, Ms. Vengerberg, thank you for asking. I trust you and Mr. Rivii are doing well?” He pauses as Geralt expresses his own greetings before continuing, “Unfortunately I’m not here for a social call. I understand that there was a slight altercation between  Mr. Rivvi and two of my detectives this morning?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A slight altercation?” The shorter of the detectives spits, his red face clashing horribly with his bright ginger crew cut. “Johannsen is in the fucking ER still waiting to get his wrist set and Tucker won’t even fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> about what that fucking freak did to him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Johannsen assaulted a minor and two civilains in front of multiple witnesses and on CCTV. Ms. Vengerberg and her associates have graciously decided to not press charges and as Detective Tucker has not made a complaint on the matter as far as I’m concerned the matter is closed. Unfortunately I do not speak for the I.A.D. As for the matter for the cafe attack you two will be taking it over and I will be supervising it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Personally.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of a pager going off interrupts the commissioner and he pulls it from his belt with a frown. The detectives shift nervously behind them, desperately wanting this whole show to be over already. Ward looks up from his pager and a look of annoyance crosses his face before he makes his pleasantries and leaves, looking distracted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The taller detective clears his throat and offers his hand to Geralt and then Yena with a kind of what-can-you-do shrug. He is easily a decade over his smaller partner and it’s written in the lines of his face and the way his eyes travel over their entwined bodies without raising an eyebrow, legs and arms tangled around each other despite Amber’s slighter form between them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Detective Gleeson, this hothead next to me is Detective Grint. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the assault that happened on the 15th?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course Detectives,” Yena purrs with a positively evil little smile, “Mr. Pankratz, unfortunately is not quite up to talking after his facial surgery but I’m sure if you call the office one of the receptionists will be happy to set up an appointment. Mr. Pankratz and his sister will be staying with us until the shop can be repaired so it should be quite easy to schedule.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Detective Grint chokes on his own tongue as Detective Glesson takes the proffered card from Yena’s outstretched hand. The card appears to be made of a thin, shiny black wood with a gold inlay that glints in the light but is too far away for Jaskier to read. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll do that Ma’am, thank you for your time,” Gleeson says with a practiced smile as he drags his still sputtering partner out of the room. There’s a dull thunk as the door closes and Jaskier can hear the sounds of a muffled argument from down the way. There’s an almost guilty silence in the room as Jaskier looks over the three on the couch. Well, Amber and Geralt look guilty. Yena looks pleased with herself and with the world in general. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, not that I’m not grateful for everything you two have done for me but I have a couple of questions that I really want some answers for. Let’s start with what minor was assaulted yesterday because the only minor I know is my sister.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amber looks sheepishly at him and shrugs while burying her face behind her cup. Geralt shifts a little like a spooked horse. Yena continues to sip her coffee daintily while conveniently looking anywhere else but Jaskier. Finally Geralt breaks and clears his throat before mumbling out something incoherent from behind his own coffee. Yena shoots him a fond look before taking pity on him and turning to Jaskier to explain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The lovely detectives yesterday took offence to your sister for existing and when he grabbed her to “take her down to the hole” I’m afraid Geralt lost control and broke the poor detective's arm. When his partner drew his weapon on my darling idiot here I, similarly, lost control and pulled both young men into the darkest recesses of their minds. I’m afraid neither shall ever be quite right again but I can’t say they didn’t deserve it. They did it to themselves after all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yena gives him a sweet smile with a dark edge to it and pops the last of her pastry in her mouth. “Any other questions darling?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are you and why are we staying with you? Did I agree to that while I was high because I really don’t think that’s legal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yena makes her way to his bedside and leans down to kiss him lightly, despite that he knows his mouth tastes like subpar coffee and old socks. She pulls back and runs a hand through his hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are mine, little song-bird. Even if you never come to love me as you have loved Geralt you are mine and I protect what’s mine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Jaskier is just… more confused than ever really. Yeah, they’re hot but he’s not sure if prostitution is really his thing. Yena must be able to read his mind because she’s laughing at him now, face open and joyus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, song-bird. I’m not reading your mind, just your face. We will explain everything when we are sure there are no listening ears. The doctors didn’t want to release you but I assured them you would be under the best of care at home. Finish your coffee and we’ll get going.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looks at Amber, who has never warmed up to anyone this quickly before and thinks about strong arms around him, carrying him from sheer death and the slender posh woman risking her life for an ungrateful cat and an old bag. She even got the goldfish. It’s not the first time that Jaskier has jumped without looking and he’s landed on his feet so far.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier falls asleep on the car ride. He’d like to blame the medication but he knows he’s just exhausted. He wakes up when Geralt takes him into his arms and he should be upset at how tiny he feels in Geralt’s mountain man arms but he just feels safe. After the last couple of days it’s nice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are in an underground parking garage filled with expensive luxury cars. Yena leads the way to a black elevator off to the side and slips her hand into the box beside it. The elevator doors open and Geralt gestures Amber in before joining her. As Yena pulls her hand away from the box a light pinging is heard and swiftly steps into the elevator and puts her hand in another box. A bell sounds and the doors close before a light pink mist floats down around them. Jaskier stares at Yena in confusion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Three step security system. This elevator goes straight to residential floors on the top four levels. The boxes use blood to tell if the person coming in is on the list of approved creatures and that lovely pink mist would have turned anything that got in here with us and meant us harm to melt. Painfully.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier feels a shiver pass through him at her smile but he still finds her ravishing. Maybe something is wrong with him. That explosion actually might have knocked something loose in his head; he doesn’t remember having a death wish before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ride up is smooth and Jaskier finds himself nodding off before they reach the top. He may be on too many painkillers after all. When the elevator doors open the muted ding pulls him back awake. The hallway he finds himself in is, in a word, opulent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not ostentatious but definitely opulent. Rich mahogany floors mix tastefully with cream walls and marble accents. The occasion bit gold filigree pulls attention to a piece of art or tasteful bouquet of flowers. There is a large wooden door at the end of the hallway with a palm scanner that Geralt slips his hand onto the panel with a slight hiss. When he pulls it out there is a bright red drop of running down one of his fingers, which he pops into his mouth before giving Jaskier a smile around the digit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Blood authentication. You can never be too careful. We’ll put you into the system once we explain everything” Yena’s smile is still beautiful but there’s a tinge of deep sorrow that transforms it into something almost divine. “You always stay, but you can never be sure and we’d never </span>
  <em>
    <span>make </span>
  </em>
  <span>you stay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that is, well. What do you even say to that? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door opens into a plush office with a young blonde woman sitting behind a wooden desk. When she looks up from her work her face is pleasant, but professional. They could be any group of people waiting for a meeting. She presses a button on her desk and a panel in the wall slides open to reveal another elevator. As Jaskier is wheeled past her desk he gets  a look behind it and there is a large gun in her lap, barrel pointed to the door. She hands Yena a sheaf of papers with a quiet murmur of conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shares a look with Amber and she shuffles closer to him to lean down and murmur soothing nonsense as she strokes his hair. Amber has a sixth sense about situations like this. Trusting her has kept him alive this long, he’s not gonna stop now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The three of them enter the elevator and the doors close as Yena waves them on. The ride is short this time and in seconds the doors are opening to another opulent room, again not a speck of dust or an item out of place. Geralt pushes him over the ornate rugs with ease, the wheels sinking deeply into the plush white carpet of the sitting room. Geralt pushes him next to a chair near the fireplace and gets to work setting a gentle fire while Amber settles next to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you have a thousand questions but we should wait for Yena to get up here. She’s better at explaining this. I always get tongue tied.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fire plays with the shadows on Geralt’s face turning him from an angel to a demon and back in the flickering light. God the man is lovely. Jaskier finds himself wondering if Geralt’s hair is as soft as it looks. He’s interrupted from his thoughts by his stomach growling and Geralt turns to him with a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cook has gone to bed for the night and even I’m not brave enough to wake them,” Geralt says with a sheepish shrug, “There should be some soup in the fridge I could warm up for you, though? Miss Amber?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That would be great Geralt.” Amber says, her tone already fond and Jaskier knows why. Not many people are nice once they find out about Amber’s little “genetic mishap” as she calls it. He reaches out and grabs her hand and she smiles at him, bright and happy like spring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be okay here, Jask. I think this is what we’ve been running towards. I don’t know why yet but they feel like home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier squeezes her hand as he nods, eyes on the giant bay windows where the sun is cresting over the New York skyline. </span>
</p><p>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was supposed to be a cute little modern coffee shop au to cheer up my baby. now? *shrugs helplessly*</p></blockquote></div></div>
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